Light Shines Brightest in the Darkness

by DaughterofHadesandNyx

Rewritten (for what seems like the fifteenth time) as of 06/11/17. FemHarry. AU, Fourth Year. Tempest really hadn't signed up for this shit.

5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five-

Things did return to normal. For the first week following Christmas there were still many speculative stares cast in her and Malfoy's direction. In the following weeks the whispers of a secret relationship slowly died off, until the memory faded into the backs of people's minds and they got on with life.

It wasn't to say that Malfoy had fallen under the radar though; he had attracted attention of his own. She had seen him in several heated exchanges with Parkinson and some other Slytherins. After the initial few days of sulking, Parkinson was attempting to reattach herself to his side. Other than that, Tempest saw him alone most of the time. She wasn't sure if he was talking to anyone, or if he was, what he was saying on the matter.

Tempest hadn't said a word for her part. She hadn't spoken to Malfoy either.

When the new term began, the snow was still thick on the ground. It crunched beneath her boots as she walked alongside the path leading down to Hagrid's cabin. Ron and Hermione were bundled up in their cloaks, and the three exchanged hopes that over the holidays the Skrewts would have finished killing each other off.

However, upon reaching the cabin, they found an elderly witch with closely cropped gray hair and a very prominent chin standing before his front door.

"Hurry up, now, the bell rang five minutes ago," she barked at them as they struggled toward her through the snow.

"Who're you?" said Ron, staring at her. "Where's Hagrid?"

"My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank," she said briskly. "I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher."

"But where's Hagrid?"

"He is indisposed," said Grubbly-Plank shortly.

Unpleasant laughter reached Tempest's ears. She turned; Parkinson and the rest of the Slytherins had arrived. Parkinson looked gleeful and not at all surprised to see the new Professor. Malfoy was there too, looking disdainful. Tempest cast a worried look back in the direction of Hagrid's cabin as Grubbly-Plank strode off around the paddock where the Bueaxbatons horses were shivering.

"What's wrong with Hagrid?" Ron said, hurrying to catch up with Grubbly-Plank.

"Never you mind," she said.

"We do mind, though, what's up with him?"

Grubbly-Plank acted as though she couldn't hear Ron. She led them past the paddock and toward a tree on the edge of the forest where a large unicorn was tethered.

Many of the girls 'ooohed!' at the sight of the unicorn. It glowing so brightly white it made all the snow around it look grey. It was pawing the ground nervously with its golden hooves and throwing back its horned head.

"Boys keep back!" barked Grubbly-Plank, "they prefer the woman's touch, unicorns. Girls to the front, and approach with care, come on, easy does it…"

She and the girls walked slowly forward to the unicorn and Tempest followed, passing by Malfoy.

There had been a good measure of distance between them as she walked by, yet Malfoy staggered, and for the briefest of moments, he grasped at her shoulder for balance. Tempest felt a something slipped into the pocket of her robes.

Malfoy let go and stepped away. The entire exchange lasted barely a second. Tempest didn't react, reached the unicorn, stroked it, admired it, then moved to the back of the group as Grubbly-Plank called the boys forward.

She pulled out whatever it was Malfoy had given her from her pocket. The rough feel of ink printed on poor parchment were tell tale signs of a page of folded newspaper. She straightened it out with Hermione beside her.

It was an article topped with a picture of Hagrid looking incredibly shifty.

DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE

Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy, ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence.

Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures.

Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since- a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates.

An alarmingly large and ferocious man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being 'very frightening.'

"My friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm," says Pansy Parkinson, a fourth-year student at Hogwarts. "We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything."

Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation however. In conversation with a Daily Prophet reporter last month, he admitted breading creatures he has dubbed "Blast-Ended Skrewts" highly dangerous crosses between manticores and fire-crabs.

The creation of new breeds of magical creature is, of course, an activity usually closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such petty restrictions.

"I was just having some fun," he says, before hastily changing the subject. As if this were not enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not – as he has always pretended – a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown. Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by warring amongst themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his reign of terror.

While many of the giants who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Fridwulfa's son appears to have inherited her brutal nature.

In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the girl who brought around You-Know-Who's fall from power- thereby driving Hagrid's own mother, like the rest of You-Know-Who's supporters, into hiding. Perhaps Tempestas Potter is unaware of the unpleasant truth about her large friend- but Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure that Miss Potter, along with her fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants.

The paper crumpled beneath Tempest's fingers and she stuffed the page back in her pocket. Hermione, who had finished reading several seconds before Tempest grabbed her wrist, as she made a violent motion forwards, focused on Malfoy.

"That fucking bastard," said Tempest. "I should've fucking known."

"Known- Tempest, what're you talking about?"

"Malfoy," ground out Tempest, "and here he is gloating-"

Hermione started at Tempest, at the utter lack of surprise regarding Hagrid's bloodlines and the skip to instant anger. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew," snapped Tempest, "I guessed years ago. I asked, he answered. This isn't important. On the night of the Ball, Hagrid and Maxime were talking in the garden, and he must've made the assumption that she was one as well. She wasn't too pleased she yelled a bit and stormed off. The thing is, Malfoy and I were walking close by and we both heard the end of it." Tempest's gaze seared into the back of Malfoy's blonde head as he stood near the unicorn. "I don't know what I was thinking- of course he wouldn't keep it to himself- I should've obliviated him or something, fuck."

"Tempest calm down," said Hermione urgently, tugging at Tempest's arm. "I don't like Malfoy either, but to leak to Skeeter-"

"He must have done," said Tempest, "unless Skeeter was crouched somewhere in a bush listening, how would she have known? It's hardly in Maxime's interest to go babbling to the press."

"It's Parkinson's name on the paper though," said Hermione.

"Then he told Parkinson," said Tempest, shaking her head. "Bad enough."

"Miss Potter- Miss Granger, are you two listening?" Grubbly-Plank waved them over to join the rest of the class, before continuing to enumerate the many magical properties of unicorns in a loud voice. They rejoined the group, and Tempest cast a look over at Malfoy to find her looking at her. His gaze was expectant. Tempest returned the look stonily. Eventually, he turned his attention back to the unicorn.

If he was gloating, he was doing it quite soberly.

That evening, after dinner, Tempest and Hermione went down to Hagrid's hut, but when they knocked, all they heard was Fang's barking, with no sound of Hagrid inside.

"Hagrid, it's me!" Tempest yelled, hammering on the door. "Open up!"

There was no answer, and when Tempest's hand was bruised from trying to physically destroy the door, she and Hermione returned to the castle. "Why's he avoiding us?" Hermione said, "He doesn't think we care about him being half-giant!?"

"Apparently so," said Tempest darkly.

It was indescribably stupid. Hagrid knew that Tempest knew. They'd talked for hours around the subject, and when they'd finally reached it, Tempest had made it clear that nothing had changed. Still, if Hagrid wanted his privacy, Tempest wouldn't intrude.

Only as the days went on, Tempest didn't see him at all.

The final straw came on the day of the Hogsmeade trip halfway through January. Tempest ignored Hermione's confusion that she was going to Hogsmeade when she announced it. In Hermione's mind, every spare moment that Tempest had should be spent working on her egg.

But the second task was still a good month and a bit away, and Tempest wasn't concerned yet. She threw Hermione off, muttering something about almost having solved it. She did have Cedric's bizarre advice to follow if worst came to worst.

The day of the Hogsmeade trip, Tempest went down to the village with Ron and Hermione. Entering the Three Broomsticks, the pub was as crowded as ever. She went up to the bar and ordered two butterbeers and an Earl Grey from Madam Rosmerta.

"Doesn't he ever go into the office?" Hermione whispered suddenly. "Look!"

She pointed into the mirror behind the bar, and Tempest saw Ludo Bagman reflected there, sitting in a shadowy corner with a bunch of goblins. Bagman was talking very fast in a low voice to the goblins, all of whom had their arms crossed and were looking rather menacing.

It was odd for Bagman to be at the Three Broomsticks on a weekend when there was no Triwizard event, and therefore no judging to be done. She thought to the last time she'd spoken to the twins and wondered if they had any headway in getting their money back.

Just then, Bagman glanced over the bar, saw Tempest, and stood up.

"In a moment, in a moment!" Tempest heard him say brusquely to the goblins, and it was too late for Tempest to turn and pretend to be in conversation with Ron and Hermione. Bagman hurried through the pub toward Tempest, his boyish grin back in place.

"Tempest!" he said. "How are you? Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?"

"Peachy," said Tempest.

"Wonder if I could have a quick, private word, Tempest?" said Bagman eagerly. "You couldn't give us a moment, you two, could you?"

"Er- okay," said Ron, and he and Hermione went off to find a table.

Tempest watched them go, and then went reluctantly with Bagman to an end of the bar, which she noted was quieter and more private than the rest of the room.

"I just thought I'd congratulate you again on your splendid performance against that Horntail, Tempest," said Bagman. "Really superb."

Tempest decided to nod. She assumed Bagman was about to get to the point, because he wouldn't have taken her aside to just congratulate her would he?

Bagman didn't seem to be in a hurry to spill though and Tempest saw him glance across the bar at a table full of goblins nearby- who in turn, were staring at the two of them with flat dark eyes.

"Absolute nightmare," Bagman said to Tempest in an undertone, noticing Tempest watching the goblins. "Their English isn't too good… it's like being back with all the Bulgarians at the Quidditch World Cup… but at least they used sign language another human could recognize. This lot keep gabbling in Gobbledegook… and I only know one word of Gobbledegook. Bladvak. It means 'pickaxe.' I don't like to use it in case they think I'm threatening them." He gave a short booming laugh.

Tempest agreed unenthusiastically. Her tea arrived and she took a sip. "So," she said. "Have you been having problems with your post lately?"

"My post?" asked Bagman, looking confused.

"Friends of mine have been trying to write to you," said Tempest, watching Bagman carefully. "You know them. They're identical."

Bagman's smile faded slightly. It might've been the light of the room, but he seemed to pale. "No. No, I haven't received any letters from them."

"Strange," said Tempest, taking another sip of tea.

Bagman reattached his smile to his face with effort. "Here, Tempest, what I really wanted to ask you" -he lowered his voice- "how are you getting on with your golden egg?"

A flash of how Bagman had offered to help her before the dragon too put Tempest instantly on edge. "Fine," lied Tempest.

Bagman didn't seem dissuaded. "Listen, Tempest," he said (still in a very low voice), "I feel very bad about all this... you were thrown into this tournament, you didn't volunteer for it... and if…" (his voice was so quiet now, Tempest could barely hear him) "if I can help at all… a prod in the right direction... I've taken a liking to you... the way you defeated that dragon! …well, just say the word."

Tempest stared into Bagman's round, rosy face and his wide, baby-blue eyes.

"We're supposed to work out the clues alone, aren't we?" Tempest said casually.

Bagman looked at Tempest impatiently, "Well... well, yes-"

"So thank you," said Tempest, "but I'm fine."

Bagman looked disappointed, but he couldn't say anything else as Fred and George appeared by Tempest's side suddenly. "Hello Mr Bagman," Fred said brightly, "Can we buy you a drink?"

"Er... no," said Bagman, with a disappointed glance at Tempest, "no, thank you, boys, I must run…"

He hurried out of the pub and Tempest saw the goblins follow him.

Fred and George looked just as disappointed as they looked after Bagman's disappearing figure. "How're you doing, Hedgy?" George piped up, bouncing on his heels. "Fancy a drink yourself?"

Tempest lifted her cup with a shake of her head. "I'm with Ron and Hermione, thanks though. I don't think he'll be paying you two any time soon, sorry. He's definitely gotten your letter."

Fred grunted. "Bugger. We'll have to try something else then."

They left and Tempest rejoined Ron and Hermione.

"What did he want?" asked Ron.

Tempest relayed their conversation much to Hermione's annoyance. "He's a judge, and in the Ministry to boot," she complained, "he should better than to offer to help you cheat! And you know what you're doing after all, don't you Tempest?"

Tempest mumbled something from behind the rim of her cup.

"Uh-oh," said Ron, staring at the door.

Rita Skeeter had just entered. She was wearing banana-yellow robes today; her long nails were painted shocking pink, and her paunchy photographer accompanied her. She bought drinks, and she and the photographer made their way through the crowds to a table nearby. She was talking fast and looking very satisfied.

"…didn't seem very keen to talk to us, did he, Bozo? Now, why would that be, do you think? And what's he doing with a pack of goblins in tow anyway? Showing them the sights... what nonsense... he was always a bad liar. Reckon something's up? Think we should do a bit of digging? 'Disgraced Ex-Head of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman...' Snappy start to a sentence, Bozo- we just need to find a story to fit it-"

"Right," said Tempest and stood up roughly. "Fancy ruining someone else's life, do you?"

A few people looked around. Skeeter's eyes widened behind her jeweled spectacles as she saw who had spoken.

"Tempest!" she said, beaming. "How lovely! Why don't you come and join-?"

"I'd join you with a skrewt- what was that article with Hagrid?"

Skeeter raised her heavily penciled eyebrows. "Well I would've thought it was fairly obvious, dear-"

"No one cares if Hagrid's a half-giant," exploded Tempest, "he's been one his entire life! Not once has he ever harmed anyone, and if anyone has a problem with his heritage, they'll have to go through me. Hagrid chose to keep the fact quiet for his own peace of mind, so what right do you have to go writing articles about it?"

The whole pub had gone very quiet. Rosmerta was staring over from behind the bar, oblivious to the fact that the flagon she was filling with mead was overflowing.

Skeeter's smile flickered very slightly, but she hitched it back almost at once; she snapped open her crocodile-skin handbag, pulled out her Quick-Quotes Quill, and said, "How about giving me an interview about the Hagrid you know, Tempest? The man behind the muscles? Your unlikely friendship and the reasons behind it. Would you call him a father substitute?"

Tempest stood very, very still. A sharp pain in her jaw told her she was clenching her teeth so tightly they were creaking against each other. "You can go to hell," she said quietly. "You write filth unfit for a rag and sold your integrity for your first pair of atrocious nails-"

Skeeter's face soured, and she said coldly, "I wouldn't talk about things you don't understand, girl."

Tempest looked down at Skeeter, at her made up face and glittering eyes, and wanted to hurt her. "You would lead a masterclass in that, wouldn't you?" said Tempest.

She left; many people staring at her as she went. Ron and Hermione followed her out the door not too long after, but Tempest had already set off at a run, through the village, up the road, through the gates flanked by the winged boars and up through the grounds to Hagrid's cabin.

She arrived at Hagrid's cabin alone and out of breath.

"Hagrid!" Tempest yelled, pounding on the front door, "stop wallowing and open the door or I'll blast it open! If it'll make you feel better, I'll hunt Skeeter down and curse her-"

The door opened.

"About bloody time-"

Albus Dumbledore stood in front of her.

"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly, smiling at Tempest.

"Ah… hello," said Tempest, the wind swept from her sails.

"I assume you are here for Hagrid," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling brightly. "Why don't you come in?"

"Right."

Fang launched himself at her the moment she stepped through the door, barking madly and licking her hands, looking for the titbits that Tempest usually snuck him. Hagrid was sitting at his table, where there were two large mugs of tea. He looked terrible. His face was blotchy, his eyes swollen, and he had gone to the other extreme where his hair was concerned; far from trying to make it behave, it now looked like a mess of tangled wire. He looked up, bleary eyes focusing on Tempest.

"Lo Tempest." He said hoarsely.

"No one's dead or dying," Tempest stated flatly, "you don't get to use 'lo'."

Hagrid gave what sounded like a watery laugh.

"More tea I think," Dumbledore said, flicking his wand and making a tray of cakes and another mug of hot tea appear on the table.

Tempest finished greeting Fang, and went to the table to help herself to a cup. There was a pause in which Tempest sipped at tea, Hagrid wiped at his eyes, and Dumbledore surveyed the both of them. Then Dumbledore spoke up mildly. "Did you happen to hear what Tempest was shouting outside Hagrid?"

Tempest took a too-large gulp and turned red. Dumbledore smiled at her. "Now, while I do not approve of attacking the journalistic media," he added, his eyes twinkling ever more brightly, "I must agree with her. It seems that judging by the way she threated to blow up your hut, that she still seems to want to know you and I will go out on a limb here and say that the majority of the school feels the same way."

"Exactly!" Tempest said, "-and I can't speak for the whole school, but I will regardless; we all want you back. It's like I said to the bitch today- oh, uh, sorry Professor-" Tempest added, glancing at Dumbledore.

"I have gone temporarily deaf, and haven't any idea what you said Tempest," said Dumbledore, twiddling his thumbs and staring at the ceiling.

"Right," continued Tempest, abashed, "What I said is I've known for years and it hasn't made the slightest bit of difference! Why would you think anyone would care what that woman wrote?"

Hagrid didn't answer, but two fat tears leaked out of his eyes and fell slowly into his tangled beard.

"Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore, still looking carefully up at the ceiling. "I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it–"

"Not all of 'em," said Hagrid hoarsely. "Not all of 'em wan me ter stay."

"Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I'm afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time," said Dumbledore, now peering sternly over his half-moon spectacles. "Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven't had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?"

Tempest snorted into her cup of tea, burning herself, causing Dumbledore to give her an indulgent smile.

"Yeh- yeh're not half-giant!" said Hagrid croakily.

"Enough with the self-pity!" Tempest snapped, "You are what you choose to be Hagrid. You're not automatically a monster just because your mum's a giant and there's no cause for you to hide away just because some prejudiced pricks- sorry Professor, take issue!"

"Well said," said Dumbledore, his eyes shining brightly behind his spectacles. "Well said. You should not fear public disapproval. My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practicing inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery…"

Tempest hadn't known that Dumbledore had a brother, but she laughed nonetheless.

"Just come back and teach again," she said, composing herself. "It's not Care of Magical Creatures without you."

Hagrid gulped. More tears leaked out down his cheeks and into his tangled beard.

Dumbledore stood up. "I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday," he said. "You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you both."

Dumbledore left the cabin, pausing only to scratch Fang's ears. When the door had shut behind him, Hagrid began to sob into his dustbin-lid-sized hands. Tempest shifted over to pat him on the arm. Hagrid looked up, his eyes very red indeed, and said, "Great man, Dumbledore… great man…"

"Yeah, he is."

More tears leaked out of Hagrid's eyes, but he wiped them away more forcefully, and said, "Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here…"

Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid's crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid was a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless, young, round, and smooth- he looked hardly older than eleven.

"Tha was taken jus' after I got inter Hogwarts," Hagrid croaked. "Dad was dead chuffed … thought I migh' not be a wizard, see, 'cos me mum… well, anyway. 'Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really… but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year…

"Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job… trusts people, he does. Gives 'em second chances… tha's what sets him apar' from other heads, see. He'll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s'long as they've got the talent. Knows people can turn out okay even if their families weren'… well… all tha' respectable. But some don' understand that. There's some who'd always hold it against yeh… there's some who'd even pretend they just had big bones rather than stand up an' say – I am what I am, an' I'm not ashamed. Never be ashamed,' my ol' dad used ter say, 'there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin' with.' An' he was right. I've bin an idiot. I'm not botherin' with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones… I'll give her big bones."

Tempest finished her tea. She looked down at the beaming eleven-year-old Hagrid in the photo.

"Yeh know wha, Tempest?" Hagrid said, looking up from the photo, his eyes bright, "Yeh remind me o' me a bit. Mum an' Dad gone, an' everyone's always looking at yeh for one reason or 'nother, people always callin' you names… jus' wanted to say Tempest, yeh show them- you show everyone that they're wrong, alrigh? You don't be ashamed of your choices, and don' let anyone else tell yeh different."

Tempest kept an eye trained on the Marauders Map as she slipped through the castle hallways lit by moonlight. It had been a while since she'd had cause enough to go on her nighttime wanderings, especially without the cover of the Invisibility Cloak.

Still, she was managing well enough, and the Cloak was doing more good with Sirius than her.

She made her way easily with her golden egg and nightwear stuffed into a bag over her shoulder. Twice she had to take an alternate route to the prefect's bathroom to avoid Filch, who prowled the corridors with Mrs Norris.

Finally, she reached the statue of Boris the Bewildered, a lost looking wizard with gloves on the wrong hands and found the right door. She muttered the password 'Pine fresh,' and the door creaked open.

Tempest slipped inside, bolted the door behind her, and looked around.

A splendid candle-filled chandelier filled the room with a soft glow. Everything was made of white marble, and pools of light glimmered between her and what looked like an empty rectangular swimming pool sunk into the middle of the floor. A hundred golden taps stood around the pool's edges, each with a differently colored jewel set into its handle. There was also a diving board. Long white linen curtains hung at the windows; a large pile of fluffy white towels sat in a corner, and there was a single golden-framed painting on the wall. It featured a blonde mermaid who was fast asleep on a rock, her long hair over her face. It fluttered every time she snored.

Still slightly paranoid, Tempest gave the room a second cursory glance, looking for other entrances, ensuring there were no other paintings save the slumbering mermaid.

Tempest eyed the pool. It was a thousand times larger than was necessary for a bath, unless the prefects liked to bathe together. Still, Cedric had said to take a bath, and to take a bath she would.

Setting down her bag and map beside the pool along with a large fluffy towel, Tempest inspected the many taps. The first tap she turned gushed ice white foam that floated thickly above steaming hot water, and the second had lavender bubbles. It was evident they all carried different types of bubble bath, and the pool filled up quickly with dozens of taps gushing all at once.

When it was full, Tempest stripped, folding her clothes down beside her bag and dove sleekly into the water.

For one who preferred the scalding rush of showers, Tempest found this bath rivaled them. The pool was deeper than it looked at a first glance; her toes were only able to brush the bottom of the pool at the deep end.

She swam several laps around the pool, climbing out to use the diving board, and breaking through the surface of the water in an explosion of bubbles and foam. She shook her head to clear her ears of product and ducked beneath the surface again. She swam down to the very bottom of the pool where she twisted around to stare up through the water and bubbles at the ceiling that wavered above.

It was a gorgeous feeling, but recalling her purpose, Tempest didn't feel any more enlightened regarding her egg.

With an sigh, Tempest struck out for the surface, heading to the edge of the pool.

She hauled herself out and taking care not to drip water over her clothes, grabbed her egg and slipped back down into the pool. Clasping it between her hands, she steeled herself, and yanked it open.

Though she was anticipating it, Tempest still flinched at the egg's wailing. The noise amplified by the echoes flung back by the marble walls and the egg slipped through Tempest's fingers, and into the water of the pool.

All of the screeching cut off instantly, and gazing down at the egg through the water, Tempest could hear muffled, haunting voices.

Tempest ducked under the water and swam after the egg.

"Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above the ground,

And while you're searching, ponder this: we've taken what you'll sorely miss,

An hour long you'll have to look, to recover what we took,

But past an hour- the prospect's black, too late, it's gone, it won't come back."

She grabbed the egg and kicked for the surface. The instant the egg reached air, the horrific wailing started again.

"Fuck," said Tempest, and dropped the egg beneath the water again. "Come and seek us…" She shook her head and ducked back under. After listening to the song several times, she had the general gist of it memorized and she floated about, muttering lines of it to herself.

"Slow, aren't you?"

"Fuck!"

The voice made Tempest whirl around with a curse, bubbles popping with 'pinging' noises all around her as she faced the owner of the voice.

"Shit, Myrtle!" exclaimed Tempest, "what the hell are you doing here?"

Myrtle giggled, swooping down from the celling where she had been lurking for Merlin knew how long. "I come in here often," said Myrtle, "but you- you haven't talked to me in ages. You use my bathroom, but you never stop to talk."

Tempest sighed, slipping lower into the water, "It's a bathroom, Myrtle- I don't stop often for talks."

Myrtle let out a sob, "Insulting my home! Oh! Come along and call insults to the wailing ghost why don't you-"

"Sorry," said Tempest hurriedly, glancing worriedly at the door to the bathroom. Myrtle's wails were echoing off the walls. "Could you please just be a bit quieter? I'm sorry okay? Just- shh!"

"You used to come in and stay for hours, and talk to me!" Myrtle sulked.

"Sorry." Tempest said, for the sake of peace, "But right now I'm not wearing any clothes, and this isn't the best time."

Myrtle's eyes lit up. "You mean your egg? Oh it took hours and hours for Cedric to figure it out. It's quite simple though, isn't it?"

"Then tell me," said Tempest, shutting the egg and placing it back beside the pool.

"Oh, well I can't do that, can I?" said Myrtle smugly.

"That's a great help, thanks," said Tempest dryly. "I'm ever so glad you came to talk to me."

"Me too!" Myrtle said cheerfully.

Tempest huffed impatiently, making sure there were sufficient bubbles in the pool before she swam a few laps around, thinking.

The song spoke of something she cared about, taking it someplace and giving her an hour to search for it. The voices sounded underwater, and in a space large enough to need an hour to search for… Tempest recalled Krum's swimming routine in the Black Lake. There. The song spoke of a collective we. A group that lived underwater and sung a sight better than she did. Tempest grabbed her towel and dragged it into the water, knotting it around herself, then hauling herself out of the pool, dripping water.

"I don't suppose it's sirens?" she asked, looking over at Myrtle, who smirked knowingly.

In the process of swapping her wet towel with a dry one, Tempest's gaze caught on the mermaid in the portrait. "Or a mermaid?"

Tempest's timing for when she finally chose to follow Cedric's advice had been completely random. She had been putting off thinking too hard about the egg; save for cracking it open every now and then to see if the screeching had changed at all. Tempest could've chosen any night, and as it happened, on this one, Bartemius Crouch had decided to come visiting.

In Snape's office.

And Snape wasn't there.

Tempest stared at the Marauder's map very hard. All else was still and quiet. Flich and Mrs Norris were in their office. Peeves was moving about the trophy room on the floor above, and Tempest saw herself positioned in her corridor. Crouch's dot was the only one out of place, and Tempest watched as his dot moved about Snape's office, stopping here and there, before moving on again.

It was curious. Last she had heard, Crouch was ill. So ill he couldn't make it to Hogwarts. Yet here he was in the dead of night, in Snape's office. His health must have greatly improved.

For a moment, Tempest considered ignoring it and going back to bed. She was sure the Ministry official had good reason to be snooping around as he was. Then, decided, she began making her way to Snape's office.

But she had barely closed half the distance when the dot that read Bartemius Crouch began moving out of Snape's office, coming towards her, and at the speed that the dot was travelling, he would soon round the corner and-

Tempest cursed her lack of cloak and turned the corner to slam into a large body.

"Professor Moody?"

Moody stumped out of the shadows, making Tempest stumble backwards. In the dimly lit hallway, the shadows thrown by his scars were garish. She hadn't seen his name anywhere near on the map.

"Miss Potter!" Moody growled, surprise showing on his mangled features, "What are you doing out at this time of night?"

"Fancied a walk," said Tempest. At Moody's unimpressed look, she elaborated. "I, er, wanted a bath."

"With that egg?" Moody said, nodding towards Tempest's bag, where the top of the golden egg was visible, glinting in the dim light.

"It needed polishing," Tempest deadpanned.

Moody's eyes glinted with amusement. "Well, in that case, you should be returning to your dormitory. Gryffindor Tower is in the opposite direction."

Tempest relaxed slightly, "I was going to, except then I saw that Crouch- that is, Mr Crouch, the Ministry official, was in Professor Snape's office and I-"

"Crouch?" Moody barked suddenly, his good eye flashing, while his blue one whizzed madly around in its socket. He glanced over his shoulder hurriedly, as though Crouch would burst out from the shadows. "How do you know?"

"Er-" Tempest deliberated for a second before bringing out the map. "I have this map of Hogwarts… it allows you to see where everyone in the castle is… see, here we are-" Her finger found the spot in the corridor where there were two dots. One labeled 'Tempestas Potter', the other-

Tempest's breathing halted. Her arm was still extended, the map still clearly in view. Moody's face darkened.

The air rushed into her lungs, and Tempest's hand flew down to her side, only to have her wand arc away, clattering to the ground somewhere in the distance behind Moody. Tempest stumbled back a step. Crouch was in the Ministry, she knew he wasn't a death eater, and Moody hated anything to do with death eaters, so whichever one the person in front of her was, they shouldn't pose a threat to her… but the expression on the not-Moody's face was frightening.

"What do you want?" asked Tempest, still backing away while not-Moody advanced on her. "Why are you polyjuiced as Moody? I thought you were ill."

Not-Moody laughed darkly. "Barty Crouch is ill, very ill, I'm afraid. He's unlikely to recover."

"Right," said Tempest, her jaw working furiously, while her mind worked even harder to think of any potential defense she had if he attacked her, "but this map shows where each and every person in this castle is, even if they're under an invisibility cloak-" she had Sirius' penknife in her bag, but it was unlikely the not-Moody would just let her reach for it… "and I know from a very reliable source that this map never lies."

Not-Moody's own scarred hand was clenched around his wand.

"So why does the map say 'Bartemius Crouch,' where you stand, Professor Moody?"

"Your map is mistaken." His voice was a low growl.

"The way you're acting right now, I don't think it is," said Tempest. She couldn't run. She couldn't reach Sirius' knife, and she couldn't yell for help, because she knew no one else was around. The paintings in the hallway were empty, landscapes and buildings without a single person.

"Why do you care so much?" said Tempest, continuing to stall for time. If she could make it down to the end of the corridor, she could round the corner and sprint. Not-Moody had a wooden leg, he mightn't be able to catch her… "It's a bit odd, sneaking around wearing someone else's face at night, but why would you possibly want to…"

It hit her then, the strange behaviour, the menacing manner, "You're not Moody or Crouch are you?"

Not-Moody, Not-Crouch gave a harsh laugh, his wand pointed straight at Tempest. "Smart girl aren't you? You'd have a hell of a future ahead of you… if you live that is- and unlikely given the circumstances."

"You're going to murder me right here? In this hallway?" Tempest had the Marauders Map clutched tightly in her fist and her heart was pounding in her chest. This hadn't been expected, this hadn't been how she had thought she would die…

"No," said Not-Moody with a dark laugh. "Not yet. The Dark Lord has need of you."

Voldemort?

Not-Moody's next word came so quickly Tempest missed it. She was blasted backwards and slammed against hard stone, crumpling to the ground.

The world returned with a dull throbbing that pressed in against Tempest's skull.

She was lying face down with the side of her face pressed against cold, cold stone, and her eyes were level with polished black shoes. She groaned.

"Miss Potter. Miss Potter!"

The tone was urgent, and Tempest blinked blearily. Her arm was bent awkwardly beneath her, and she groaned as she shoved against the ground to roll over.

"Miss Potter," the voice repeated, the concern leeching out of it until Tempest was looking up at Snape, bent over her and dressed in a long grey nightshirt.

"Professor Snape!" Tempest tried to sit up, working against limbs that were moving sluggishly. "What… how did- what happened? Why am I here?"

Snape straightened, "A question I would like answered as well. Why is it that you are here at ten past one in the morning?"

"I… but, wait, what? It's one?" Tempest got to her feet unsteadily. Her hair was wet against her head and neck. She was dressed in her sleepwear, her dressing gown loosely knotted around her waist. Her bag was sitting beside her, a golden glint peeking out from the gap of the zip. "I think…" she tried to focus. She had been talking to Myrtle… "I think I had a bath… that's right, it was a great bath…"

Snape's gaze filled with utter distain, and his voice dripped with his opinion of her. "Fairy dust?" he sneered.

"I'm not high!" said Tempest defensively. She'd never touched the stuff, though George had offered once… "It must have been the bath."

"At one in the morning?" said Snape disbelievingly.

"It was a long bath," snapped Tempest, just as her skull throbbed again, sending her reeling and grasping for the wall of the corridor to steady herself.

If Snape had thought she was suffering from the aftereffects of fairy dust, she had just reinforced his theory.

"Enough of this nonsense," he snarled, "What I wish to know is why it is you- you insufferable Gryffindor- who is out of bed at the same time that my office has been broken into!"

"Your office was broken into?" said Tempest, her headache refusing to abate. She would have to see Pomfrey again soon. She had thought her headaches had been getting better, but it seemed not. "I don't have the faintest idea about anyone in your office," she said, "all I know is that I had a bath- is that my wand?"

Tempest stumbled a few steps past Snape to where her wand lay in a pool of moonlight. She must have dropped it, but she simply couldn't remember…

Snape was watching her scornfully. "You expect me to believe that free of undue influence and with full mental capabilities, a bath resulted in your passing out here, in the middle of a corridor?"

"As far as I know, yes."

"Is that so?" said Snape, "then you will have no objections to taking this to the Headmaster-"

"Trouble Snape?"

Of the darkness loomed Moody, both eyes fixed on Snape.

The expression fell away from Snape's face forming a blank mask. "Not at all Moody. Miss Potter was merely out of bed after hours."

Moody barely looked at Tempest, his blue eye flickering over her before it focused back on Snape. "-and what would you be doing out of bed at this hour Snape? Pajama party?"

"I have just as much a right to be out of bed as you do Moody-"

"I heard you say your office had been broken into," Moody interrupted. "Why would that be Snape?"

"It is unimportant," said Snape coldly.

"On the contrary," growled Moody, "it is very important. Who'd want to break into your office?"

"A student, I daresay," said Snape. His eyes flickered to Tempest briefly. "Miss Potter, to be precise, under the influence of fairy dust I suspect. It has happened before-"

"It hasn't-" protested Tempest. The two wizards ignored her.

"Mischief making, you think?" said Moody, "Not hiding anything else in your office, are you?"

Snape's face darkened. "You know I'm hiding nothing, Moody," he said in a soft and dangerous voice, "as you've searched my office pretty thoroughly yourself."

Moody's face twisted into a smile. "Auror's privilege, Snape. Dumbledore told me to keep an eye-"

"Dumbledore happens to trust me-" Snape said through gritted teeth.

"Course Dumbledore trusts you," growled Moody. "He's a trusting man, isn't he? Believes in second chances. But me- I say there are spots that don't come off, Snape. Spots that never come off, d'you know what I mean?"

Evidently Snape did; the little colour he had in his sallow face leeched out of it, and he grabbed his left forearm convulsively as though it had hurt him.

Moody laughed. "Get back to bed Snape."

"You don't have the authority to send me anywhere!" Snape hissed, letting go of his arm angrily. "I have as much right to prowl this school after dark as you do!"

"Prowl away," said Moody, his voice was full of menace. "I look forward to meeting you in a dark corridor some time…" He trailed off, his normal eye flickering to Tempest, as if he had just remembered she was there. "I'll take Miss Potter back to bed."

"No!" Snape snapped, "I insist on discovering what else she may have done under the influence-"

Tempest opened her mouth to protest, but Moody beat her to it. "Had you been listening, you would have heard that the girl has no idea of what you are talking about… fairy dust is ultimately harmless- although," said Moody suddenly, his voice louder, "I am sure that the Headmaster will be interested to hear of how you seem so interested in detaining Miss Potter alone in dark corridors at night…"

There was a pause in which Snape looked down at Moody, and Tempest couldn't see the expression on his face. She swallowed hard and willed the shadows to swallow her up.

"I merely thought," said Snape, in a voice of forced calm, "that Miss Potter might know more about the break ins-"

"Indeed." Moody said softly. "Well, it that is the case, it would seem that the answer to that question would be no."

The silence hung in the air for several more seconds in which Tempest tried to vanish entirely, or failing that, blend into the stonework of the wall behind her. Snape glowered at Moody.

"I think I will go back to bed." Snape said curtly. He gave a final glare at Tempest, then swept around Moody and down the stairs. A door slammed somewhere and Tempest was left alone with Moody.

"Thanks," Tempest muttered, rubbing at her head. She ignored the sense of wrongness that hung in the air around Moody. The man had just gotten rid of Snape. She felt awful though. Her body did not feel as though she just had a nice relaxing bath in the prefects bathroom, rather like she had been slammed into a wall. She would be talking to Cedric about that bath.

Moody grunted. "Come along- Gryffindor tower."

Tempest grabbed her bag off the ground and followed Moody out of the corridor.

"What do you remember?" Moody asked suddenly.

Tempest dragged a hand through damp hair. It hadn't dried at all, which meant she couldn't have been lying there for long. "Last thing I remember I was leaving the bathroom," she said, "after that… nothing. I wasn't on fairy dust though, I swear."

"Mmph." Moody acknowledged, "Anything else?"

Tempest didn't know if that meant the man believed her or not, but she decided to leave it. "No, nothing."

They walked in silence the rest of the way till they reached the portrait hole, and she was just stepping through when Moody said, "I assume that your bath wasn't just the sake of cleanliness."

His eyes were fixed on the glint of gold that was visible through her bag.

"Yes sir," Tempest said, following his gaze.

"Good," Moody said, seeming satisfied and the portrait swung closed.

It was when Tempest had greeted Nyx, gotten into bed and drawn the curtains that she realized what else was missing.

The map.

Tempest turned the girl's dormitory inside out searching for the map, tearing through corridors and retracing her steps early in the morning. She found no sign of the map. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she had it entering into the prefect's bathroom, and upon exiting, its whereabouts, like her memories, were gone.

Guilt and worry squirmed in Tempest's gut. The map was part of the Marauders' legacy, infinitely useful and it something tangible she could claim from her father.

She had tried 'accio'ing the map, but it did not appear, flying around a corner and into her hands.

Cedric's honest confusion when Tempest asked him about the prefect's bathroom and her memory loss left her at another dead end. Had she been attacked? If she had, then why was she unharmed and the only item stolen the Marauders' Map?

It occurred to her only later, when the second task was a little more than a week away. The song that the egg had sung, the line: 'we've taken what you'll sorely miss,' had been a clear clue. It must have been misdirection on the part of the tournament organizers, to knock her out before taking the map.

Slightly relieved to have resolved the problem, but resenting the missing map, Tempest had written to Sirius about the strange happenings and the egg's contents. Sirius's reply, blessedly not long in coming, was short and succinct.

Tempest- Send the date of your next Hogsmeade weekend by return owl. Yours, Sirius.

Tempest had sent him the date, and watched the owl take flight again with warring concern and anticipation. Was Sirius thinking to come into Hogsmeade to see her?

She refused to get her hopes up.

The second task was now two days away, and unlike the first task, Tempest had prepared. She had brewed a Respirant potion, commonly used by high altitude climbers, which would enable her to survive with little to no air indefinitely, and protected the body against changes in pressure.

She hadn't had time to test it though, as she had started brewing so late. She'd had to express mail order many ingredients to even begin, which had cost many a shiny sickle. Tempest had even taken to following Krum's example and swimming about in the icy waters of the Black lake. It seemed he had already threshed out surviving underwater, as Tempest rarely saw him on the surface of the lake.

On the day of the second task, Tempest woke early, dressing with her robes over her swimming costume, and slipping her corked potion into the pocket of the shorts she wore beneath. Hermione was curiously absent from the bed opposite. Tempest wondered where she had got to. Her bed had been empty the night before as well, when Tempest had returned late from an evening swim.

Nyx was absent as well, still out rat-hunting. Crookshanks was perched on Hermione's bedspread, and Tempest gave her a parting stroke as she left the dormitory.

The Great Hall was filled with a buzz when Tempest arrived, potion in pocket and sitting down beside Fred.

"Nervous?" he asked, passing her a plate of scrambled eggs.

"Yeah," said Tempest. She stared down at the plate of eggs. "Thanks for this... somehow I've lost my appetite though. Probably for the best. Don't eat and swim and all that."

Fred laughed, "You'll climb the Whomping Willow on a dare, but eating before swimming is where you draw the line?"

Tempest shrugged, standing, "Where's George?"

"Placing bets probably," said Fred, beginning to dig into Tempest's rejected eggs. "All the best out there."

Tempest nodded and set out of the castle towards the Black lake. By the time she reached the shore, the other champions were already there, standing next to the judges, and Tempest saw that Crouch was still absent; Percy was standing next to Karkaroff.

Looking around, Tempest saw that the seats that had encircled the dragons' enclosure in November were now ranged along the opposite bank, rising in stands that would soon be packed to the bursting point and reflected in the lake below.

Time seemed to fly by then, one moment she was making small talk with Cedric and Fleur, then they had stripped down to their swimming costumes, all the stands around them were filled and Bagman was speaking to the crowd, announcing the Second task.

"To begin with," Bagman said to deafening cheers, after his introductory speech, "Mr Cedric Diggory will be rescuing Miss Cho Chang…"

Tempest watched Cedric's face pale. She felt similarly queasy. They were going to be rescuing people?

We've taken what you'll sorely miss…

Who would be the one that she'd sorely miss? Sirius? Remus? The probability of their being here was less than none-

"Mr Viktor Krum will be rescuing Miss Hermione Granger-"

Tempest's stomach clenched queasily. Hermione. Yet this meant… if the thing they were seeking in the lake was a person, it hadn't been the tournament organizers that had ambushed her in that corridor. Someone else had taken the map from her. But that was a matter to be dealt with in an hour's time. Now, she had someone to save.

As Bagman announced who Fleur was going to rescue, Tempest dug her potion out of her pocket.

"…and last but not least, Miss Tempestas Potter will be rescuing Nyx!"

The stands quieted slightly, confused whispers spreading.

"Who's Nyx?" Cedric asked from beside Tempest.

"My cat," replied Tempest, glancing over at the judges. Who made the decisions on who to pick as a hostage? They had taken her cat. What kind of sick bastard took a cat and dunked it in a lake? Nyx hated the water, held grudges against Tempest for weeks whenever she was due for a wash.

The champions lined up by the lakeside, Tempest standing next to Fleur. Wand in one hand and the flask of the potion in her other, Tempest fixed her eyes on the ominous surface of the lake. It was impossible to see beneath.

Bagman was coming down the line of champions, and he leaned in closer to her. "All right, Tempest?" he whispered as he moved Tempest a few feet farther away from Krum. "Know what you're going to do?"

"I'm fine," said Tempest, eyes on the water.

Bagman said something in reply that Tempest did not hear and addressed the crowd again. The whistle blew.

Tempest followed the other champions, wading forward into the icy water. She uncorked the vial and swallowed the contents down.

The taste was awful, instantly coating the inside of her mouth with what she imagined burnt rubber would and sliding down her throat like cough syrup. Then her throat began to close off. Tempest doubled over, hacking for breath, trying to draw in air through her nostrils, and panicking as nothing happened.

She had made a terrible mistake. This was what brewing under urgency resulted in; she was going to suffocate-

Tempest slipped on the uneven floor of the lake and fell face first into the water.

Her mouth opened in a cry, and the shock of cold and impact should have had her swallowing water and lungs flooding. But no air escaped from her open mouth, nor did the waters of the lake rush down her throat and begin to burn.

Relief coursed through Tempest, and shoving her wand through the waist of her shorts, she began to swim forwards and down. The potion was working marvelously. Tempest couldn't breathe, nor did she need to. The deeper she swam, the darker it got, yet she felt no outward change of pressure on her body, and even as the water became darker and murkier, Tempest remained able to see about ten feet before her.

Shapes of rocks loomed out before her, forests of rippling, tangled black weed, or wide plains of mud littered with glimmering stones. The frigid water also remained about the same, even as Tempest reached an outcrop of rock and swam past and beyond, diving still deeper.

Small fish flickered past her like silver darts. Once or twice she thought she saw something large moving ahead of her, but when she got nearer, she discovered it was nothing more than a large, blackened log, or a dense clump of weed. There was no sign of any of the other champions, merpeople, or Nyx.

When the water had become so dark Tempest couldn't see her hands if she stretched them before her, she draw her wand and said, "Lumos maxima." She couldn't hear her own voice, but her wand lit up, the glow illuminating the lake several meters around her. Fish swam away frantically.

Light green weed stretched ahead of her as far as she could see, two feet deep, like a meadow of very overgrown grass.

It wasn't so bad down here, Tempest thought. A tad eerie, but peaceful. Perhaps it'd be nice to keep a supply of the potion for when she wanted to go diving… though of course, she wasn't a fan of dying of dragon pox in old age, an unfortunate side effect if one took too many potion supplements.

A hand clamped around Tempest's ankle.

Tempest yelled, whirling around to see a grindylow baring its yellow needle teeth at her.

Tempest had her wand out in seconds, the water hampering her movement, but she managed to brandish it threateningly at the creature. "Let go!" she yelled, to no effect. She couldn't speak, not properly, and she mouthed at the grindylow, who stared at her contemptuously.

"Relashio!" Tempest tried, slashing her wand sideways as the grindylow's grip became painful.

Nothing happened.

There were more shapes coming into view; reaching the edges of Tempest's wand light. More creatures that would swarm her. She had cast a spell before, why had it worked then but not now?

"RELASHIO!"

The grindylow was blasted backwards, and Tempest barely had time to thank Merlin before she saw something far larger looming towards her.

Tempest twisted around and kicked away.

She didn't know how long she had been in the lake for, but by the time Tempest's arms and legs were starting to burn from the drag, she was feeling hopelessly lost. How big was the lake again? How deep? The answer was probably somewhere in Hogwarts a History- so Hermione would probably know, but Hermione was most tied up somewhere at the bottom of the lake along with Nyx.

If Tempest didn't make it in time…

There was no way that Dumbledore would let students die, but the thought of potential consequences filled Tempest's mind until she swam through a ghost without realizing it.

"Myrtle!" Tempest exclaimed soundlessly.

Myrtle giggled, the sound traveling underwater. She was floating hazily in front of Tempest, looking rather put out. "If you're asking why I'm here- someone flushed my toilet while I was in the pipes… "

"The pipes end up in the Black Lake?" grimaced Tempest.

Myrtle shook her head, the disgust on Tempest's face easy to read. "No, don't worry, I floated out the side before the pipe ended; I didn't want to end up at the coast again, it takes days to make it back to the castle…"

Myrtle looked like she was going to moan on about her woes for a while, so Tempest gestured impatiently.

Myrtle giggled again. "Well, if you're still looking for mermaids- you'll want to be looking that way-" Myrtle pointed to the left, where Tempest could see towering craggy rocks in the semi-darkness. "I won't come with you- they don't like me, the mermaids…"

Tempest nodded her thanks, and swam faster.

She had barely closed half the distance between her and the rocks when a honest to Merlin shark appeared from the darkness, heading in her direction. Tempest backpedalled frantically, bringing her wand up, trying to think of a spell. Would Petrificus Totalus work on a shark?

…a shark that had legs?

Krum?

It was the head of a shark; Krum's shoulders seeming to meld into the sharkskin. Minnie would have called it incomplete transfiguration. Krum clearly wasn't batting to become an animagus, the sharks head was clearly meant to be temporary. But it was an impressive feat, and effective, something Tempest could appreciate even when faced with rows of razor teeth.

Krum saw her, the wide eyes of the shark glancing over and around her, before he veered away and began to swim in the wrong direction.

Tempest didn't know how long she had been in the Lake for; she didn't know what would happen once the hour was up, but she did know that at this rate it was highly unlikely that she would manage to come in first… but there was no reason to risk Hermione's wellbeing in the process.

Krum swam past Tempest and before she could change her mind, she grabbed his ankle, yanking him to a halt.

Krum thrashed around, and his teeth, bared an inch from her face were enough to make Tempest regret her decision, but she scowled at him regardless. "That's gratitude for you; Hermione's that way," she said pointing. Krum closed his mouth, seeming to be deliberating, and Tempest pointed again, more empathetically. He hesitated for a second longer, then something shifted and he shot off in the direction she was pointing.

"Thank you," Tempest huffed, kicking off after him. Not after long, Tempest could hear the haunting mersong, faint, and growing louder.

"An hour long you'll have to look, and to recover what we took…"

Tempest swam faster. A cluster of crude stone dwellings stained with algae loomed suddenly out of the gloom on all sides. Here and there at the dark windows, Tempest saw faces… faces that certainly weren't displayed in paintings or in fairytales. The merpeople had greyish skin and long, wild, dark green hair. Their eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth and they wore thick ropes of pebbles around their necks. They leered at Tempest as she swam past; one or two of them emerged from their caves to watch her better, their silver fish tails beating the water, spears clutched in their hands.

Tempest kept swimming through the mermaid city and soon the dwellings became more numerous; there were gardens of weed around some of them, and she even saw a pet grindylow tied to a stake outside one door.

Tempest rounded a corner and she stopped. A whole crowd of merpeople was floating in front of the houses that lined a village square. A choir of merpeople was singing in the middle, calling the champions toward them. Behind them rose a crude statue; a gigantic merperson hewn from a boulder.

There were two people tied to the tail of the statue.

And Nyx.

The cat looked very small, wet fur floating out from her body as she hung loosely in the water, thick ropes made out of slimy weed wrapped around her torso.

Tempest swam forwards. Nyx was tied between Cho and a silvery haired girl that Tempest assumed was Fleur's sister. The loose ropes that floated beside the girl told Tempest that Krum had already come and gone. Hermione was safe.

Tempest reached Nyx, using the hand that wasn't holding her wand to tug at the ropes tied around Nyx. The rope was knotted and slimy, slipping between Tempest's fingers. Frustrated, she dug out Sirius's knife from her pocket and began sawing at the ropes, careful to avoid Nyx's body.

It was spooky there, surrounded by creepy merpeople, all of which were armed- and Nyx didn't seem to have any means of breathing. The ropes fell free, and Tempest hugged Nyx to her, the cat's body feeling incredibly small and skinny. She gave a final glance towards Cho and Fleur's sister, both of whom appeared to be asleep, streams of bubbles escaping their nostrils and open mouths. She felt bad, leaving them there, but they could only hope for their respective champions to come for them quickly.

Tempest began swimming upward, kicking off from the head of the merman to give herself more of a boost. The surface seemed so far away; just a glimmer of light through the water. If Tempest couldn't feel the dull warmth emanating from Nyx, she would have feared Nyx was dead, the way she remained limp in Tempest's arms.

It was a lot harder swimming upwards one-armed, and Tempest was starting to think she'd never reach the surface, when all of a sudden, she couldn't have been more than two meters below the surface… then one…

Her head broke the surface of the water, and it was a struggle to remember she didn't need to gasp for air. Grey sunlight fell upon her, and it was like a blessing.

Tempest kicked to remain above the water, and hauled Nyx's body up into the air.

The effect was instantaneous.

Nyx came alive, her claws digging deep and slicing into Tempest's arms. She yowled even as Tempest cursed, struggling to keep a hold of Nyx while staying above the water. "Stay still, Nyx," she complained, grasping the squirming Nyx bodily, and placing her on her shoulder, where the cat proceeded to claw up Tempest's neck and scalp, until she had clambered on top of Tempest's head. She dug her claws in and remained there, quivering.

Tempest winced, then began swimming slowly with long, measured strokes towards the platform at water level where she could see Bagman standing, his robes contrasting brightly against the grey backdrop of the mountains in the distance.

She reached the platform, hauled herself up over the edge and lay there, panting, face-down against the wet wooden panels. Nyx was still perched on Tempest's head, fur plastered down, trembling. About half-a-dozen people surrounded her, their voices blurring together. The only thing Tempest managed to focus on was the fluffy warm towel she was handed.

"Thanks," she muttered, still shivering. "Nyx, c'mhere," Tempest fumbled with her wand, fingers numb. "Siccus Calidus!"

A jet of hot air blasted at Nyx, water steaming off her fur in a cloud of vapor, leaving it dry and fluffy. Tempest then shrugged the towel off her shoulders; bundling Nyx up until only her face was visible. The cat glared mutinously out at Tempest.

"Tempest!"

Tempest, teeth chattering, turned to see Hermione hurrying over, hair wet from the water and carrying another towel. "Tempest! Thank Merlin, are you all right?"

Tempest shook her head. The feeling in her throat was now strange, and she pointed her wand at her throat. "Finite incantatem."

The thick feeling in her throat eased. Tempest swallowed thickly and gulped down air, relishing in the freeness of it. "Peachy," she said finally. "Glad to see you're alright… it was spooky down there… How'd you feel being the thing that Krum would miss the most?"

Hermione flushed. "I'm sure they used ball dates; Cedric had to rescue Cho, right?"

"Not all of us," said Tempest, hugging Nyx to her chest. "I think it was Fleur's sister down there."

"Her name's Gabrielle," confirmed Hermione, "but Fleur had to be pulled out early, she ran into some grindylows."

Tempest saw Fleur standing nearby beside Maxime, talking very fast and looking quite frantic.

"Yeah, I ran into one too," said Tempest, wiping away strands of wet hair from her eyes, "I managed to get away before more arrived though… Cedric's the only one left then. Oh, there he is."

Cedric had just surfaced; he and Cho were now swimming towards them, a few dozen meters out.

"What did I miss?"

Hermione adjusted her towel around her shoulders. "Not much. I just woke up a while ago and found myself facing a shark head- that was what Viktor tried to transfigure himself into. He was first, but I think they'll take off marks for incomplete transfiguration. Fleur got pulled out of the water not long after us; she was hysterical. You two popped up not long after… I still think you might be able to hold your position in first place, Tempest. Viktor came first, but your potion was amazing- above seventh year standard in fact, even if you were second-"

"Small mercies," said Tempest, folding Nyx's velvet ears between her fingers. "I'm free up for a while yet now."

Hermione sat down by the water. "We just need to wait for them to pull Fleur's sister out, and then they'll announce the scores."

"Great," said Tempest, and the pair of them sat there in a peaceful silence. It was odd, for two who spent so much time together, but Tempest hadn't spoken to Hermione in a while.

"How'd you feel?" asked Hermione.

"Not the worst I've been recently," said Tempest. "Well. Someone recently knocked me out in a hallway and stole the map."

"What?"

"There isn't much I can do," sighed Tempest. "I can't really go to anyone about this. This happened in the middle of the night, the map isn't meant to exist, strictly speaking, and if I lie… well then why should I care about a piece of parchment?"

"You could go to Dumbledore," suggested Hermione. "He helped us with Si-"

"Maybe," said Tempest quickly, cutting Hermione off before she could finish the name. She glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one was near. "I dunno. As much as it means to me, it might be a waste of time. It was really early in the morning and stuff happens at Hogwarts sometimes…"

Hermione looked concerned. "It's usually really serious, Tempest."

Tempest stroked Nyx through the towel. "Usually."

"What were you doing out so late anyway?" Hermione's brow creased. "You weren't-"

"I wasn't what?" Tempest laughed, "I'm out late a lot, Hermione."

"You weren't meeting anyone, were you?" said Hermione, "only… it makes a lot of sense. You can't exactly meet normally, people would talk." At Tempest's bemused look, she sighed, exasperated. "You and Malfoy! You've always been at each other's necks."

"Oh," said Tempest, "Merlin, no. Honestly- the ball was a one time thing. He asked and I said yes. Hell, I don't know why, but it's done with. Try saying that about you and Krum. Look, I've got to go talk to Cedric, yeah? I'll talk to you later."

She stood, thanking Pomfrey who came hurrying to her side like an oversized mother hen, and made her way over to where Cedric was standing. "Hey- er, Cho alright?"

"She's fine, just getting dried off," Cedric replied, "how's your cat?"

"Nyx," Tempest said, propping the cat up in her arms. "She should be just fine… What I was wanting to say though was… thanks for the bath."

Cedric laughed. "No worries. I owed you one after all."

"Then we're even," grinned Tempest, "don't you dare try and help me for the Third Task."

"Nor you I," Cedric replied easily.

There was a sudden commotion and a buzz of activity near the water's edge. Tempest saw Fleur running to where her sister had just been pulled over the edge, sopping wet with what seemed like half the lake sheeting off her.

"Gabrielle!" cried Fleur. She began fussing over her sister, speaking rapidly in French. They were soon joined by Maxime, who seemed genuinely concerned for the girl.

Krum was talking to Karkaroff on the other side of the platform, but kept shooting Hermione covert glances. He soon came over to her, brushing damp hair away from her face. "You haff a water beetle in your hair, Herm-own-ninny," he said.

"Oh," said Hermione, going red, and she flicked it away. She caught Tempest smirking over at them, and scowled briefly.

Still smiling, Tempest looked over at Dumbledore, who was crouching by the water's edge, talking with what must have been the chief merperson, a particularly wild looking female. He was making the same sort of screechy noises that the merpeople made when they were above water. Finally Dumbledore straightened up, turned to his fellow judges and said, "A conference before we give the marks, I think."

The judges went into a huddle.

Pomfrey all but force-fed Tempest and Hermione Pepper up potion then went to fetch Fleur and her sister. Fleur had many cuts on her face and arms and her robes were torn, but she didn't seem to care, nor would she allow Pomfrey to clean them.

Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice boomed out beside them, making them all jump, and the stands go quiet. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Mer-chieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows…

"Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, nearing the hostages first, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."

There was applause from the stands.

"I deserved zero," said Fleur throatily, shaking her magnificent head. Tempest saw Maxime give Fleur a reproving look.

"Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was third to return with his hostage, reaching the surface several minutes outside the time limit. We therefore award him forty two points." Enormous cheers from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd.

"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was first to return with his hostage within the time limit. We award him forty-seven points." Hermione beamed and applauded loudly.

"Tempestas Potter made excellent use of a Respirant potion, which she brewed herself, returning second and less than a minute outside of the time limit- we have decided to award her forty four points."

Tempest blinked, stunned. That put her in second place, by just two points. Krum was ahead by a tiny margin. The applause from the stands was deafening, and the other champions were applauding her as well.

"The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty- fourth of June," continued Bagman. "The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions."

Tempest turned with a grin to Hermione, and squeezed Nyx all the tighter. The second task was over, she was second, and in less than two weeks, she might be seeing Sirius again. Things were looking up.

As they entered March the weather became drier, but cruel winds skinned Tempest's hands and cheeks every time she went out onto the grounds. There were delays in the post because the owls kept being blown off course. The brown owl that Tempest had sent to Sirius with the dates of the Hogsmeade weekend turned up at breakfast on Friday morning with half its feathers sticking up the wrong way; Tempest had no sooner torn off Sirius's reply than it took flight, clearly afraid it was going to be sent outside again.

Sirius's letter was almost as short as the previous one.

Tempest- Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish and Banges) as early as possible on Saturday. –Yours, Sirius

Tempest folded the letter into her pocket. She wondered if it was selfish of her to be so glad she would soon see him. It was unspeakably dangerous for him so close to Hogwarts. There weren't any dementors hanging around like the past school year, but the face of Sirius Black was still fresh in people's minds.

Still, she remained cheerful as she headed to double potions, her final lesson of the afternoon.

Crabbe, Goyle and the gang of Slytherin girls headed by Parkinson were standing in a huddle outside the classroom door. All of them were looking at something Tempest's couldn't see and sniggering heartedly.

Parkinson's pug-like face peered excitedly around Goyle's broad back as Tempest approached.

"There she is, there she is!" she giggled, and the knot of Slytherins broke apart. Tempest saw that Pansy had a magazine in her hands- Witch Weekly. The moving picture on the front showed a curly-haired witch who was smiling toothily and pointing at a large sponge cake with her wand.

"You might find something to interest you in there, Potter!" Parkinson said loudly, and she threw the magazine at Tempest, who snagged it from the air and scowled over at Parkinson. At that moment, the dungeon door opened, and Snape beckoned them all inside.

"What's that?" whispered Ron, as he and Hermione joined her, walking to a table at the back of the dungeon. Once Snape had turned his back on them to write up the ingredients of today's potion on the blackboard, Tempest flipped open the magazine beneath the desk to find whatever it was Parkinson deemed so essential for her to see.

At last, in the center pages, Tempest came across a familiar colour photo. It was from the Yule Ball, a shot of Malfoy and herself outside the castle. There was a short piece beneath.

Tempest Potter's Secret Heartache

A girl like no other, perhaps- yet a girl suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of her parents, fourteen-year-old Tempest Potter seems to have found solace in Draconis Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, an influential member of the Ministry of Magic.

Sources within Hogwarts confirm the fiery relationship between Miss Potter and Mr Malfoy to 'always have been at each other's necks.' "It makes a lot of sense," says Hermione Granger, a close friend of Miss Potter's. "I think there's always been something there," confirms Lavender Brown, another fourth year student, "they rub each other up the wrong way, but they're fixated on one another."

It seems that Miss Potter, unaccustomed to such feeling in a life littered with personal loss is toying with the affections of Mr Malfoy however. Previously confirmed to have ensnared the attentions of a George Weasley, she seems unable to decide between the males, stating of Mr Malfoy; 'the ball was a one time thing… it's done with.'

However, it might not be Miss Potter's natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys' interest.

"She's not easy to like," says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, "but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's good at potions. I think that's how she's doing it."

Miss Potter's reasoning may be tragic, and to be sympathized with, but love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Tempest Potter's wellwishers must hope that she soon overcomes her flights of fancy.

"Merlin, Tempest," said Ron in hushed tones as Tempest set aside the Witch Weekly article with disgust. "Skeeter's really got it out for you."

"It must have been when you confronted her in the pub," said Hermione quietly. "She's attacking you for it. She's still playing up to 'Tempest Potter' the tragedy, but she's trying to turn you into some sort of delinquent."

Tempest scoffed. "Well she'll have to try harder than that," she said, looking over at the Slytherins. Parkinson and her group were all watching her to see if she looked upset, while Malfoy's back was bent over his book.

Tempest turned back to the front and began unpacking the ingredients needed for the Wit-Sharpening Potion.

"First order of business," muttered Tempest, setting out her selection of knives, "How the hell did she hear our conversation? We were right by the water- I checked, no one could have heard us."

Ron looked at her, "what's this?"

"Tempest and I were talking after the second task," said Hermione, "those quotes are actually ours… she couldn't possibly have heard. Not unless she was skulking around in an invisibility cloak."

Tempest gritted her teeth. "We need to find out. And I need to have a word to Lavender about talking to Skeeter. She never willingly keeps her trap shut, does she?"

"She wasn't wrong though, was she?" said Ron.

"What?" said Tempest sharply.

"Nothing," said Ron quickly, bending to light a fire beneath their cauldron.

"Maybe that's how she found out about Hagrid," said Hermione, giving Tempest a nervous glance. "At the ball. She could have been wandering the grounds under a cloak."

"It makes sense," said Tempest, sharpening a knife roughly and preparing her ginger roots. "It would explain that photo. She must have been skulking in the bushes. That was private-"

"Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Potter," said an icy voice right behind them, and all three of them jumped, "I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Snape had glided over to their desk while they were talking. The whole class was now looking around at them. "Ah... reading magazines under the table as well?" Snape added, snatching up the copy of Witch Weekly. "A further ten points from Gryffindor... oh but of course..." Snape's black eyes glittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter's article. "Miss Potter has to keep up with her press cuttings…"

The dungeon rang with the Slytherins' laughter, and an unpleasant smile curled Snape's thin mouth. His eyes flickered over the article as Tempest's face burnt with fury. He raised a brow and read aloud; "Tempestas Potter's Secret Heartache… dear, dear, Potter, how very touching." He rolled up the magazine and motioned at her. "Clearly, the pangs of your heart are ill suited for concentration. Miss Granger and Weasley, stay there. Potter- the table in front of my desk. Move. Now."

Tempest gathered her ingredients, bag and cauldron and moved up to the front of the dungeon to the empty table. Snape followed, sat down at his desk and watched as Tempest began to set up again. She kept her head down, focusing on keeping her roots of a perfect dimension.

"All this press attention seems to have inflated your already overlarge head, Potter," said Snape quietly, once the rest of the class had settled down again.

"I can assure you there isn't a thing happening between me and your godson, sir," ground out Tempest, maintaining her rigid concentration on sectioning portions of armadillo bile.

"You might be laboring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you," Snape went on as though she had not spoken. His voice was so quiet that no one else could hear him. "But I don't care how many times your picture appears in the papers. To me, Potter, you are nothing more than another student who considers rules to be beneath her."

Tempest wondered for a brief instant whether it had been Snape who had taken the Marauders' Map. He had come across it in the past, only to be stopped by Remus… She gave the shimmering blue of her potion several counter clockwise stirs, hoping her hand did not shake.

"So I give you fair warning, Potter," Snape continued in a softer and more dangerous voice, "celebrity or not- if I catch you breaking into my office one more time-"

A sudden stab of pain through Tempest's skull made her hand slip, splashing potion over her desk. She mopped it up angrily. "I haven't been anywhere near your office, sir. I have no interest in your office whatsoever-"

The headache faded as quickly as it had come, and Tempest was left with an empty feeling, like she was missing something important.

"Do not lie to me," hissed Snape, his fathomless black eyes boring into Tempest's. "Boomslang skin, unicorn hair? Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them."

Tempest stared back at him. Boomslang skin she hadn't stolen personally- that was Hermione back in second year to make Polyjuice potion. Tempest had stolen the unicorn hair third year to make a pain reliever for Moony once she had discovered his 'furry little problem.' That aside, she hadn't been anywhere near his office for the past year.

"Dust induced or not, you were out of bed the exact night, at the exact time that my office was broken into- and while Moody may have joined your fan club, I will not tolerate your behavior! One more night time stroll, and you will pay!"

Tempest's hand fisted in the rag and she glared across her desk. "Why on earth would I want to mess about in your office? I've told you, I don't know how I ended up in that blasted corridor!"

Snape's eyes flashed. He plunged a hand into the inside of his black robes. For one wild moment, Tempest thought Snape was about to curse her. Then she saw that Snape had drawn out a small crystal bottle of a completely clear potion.

"Do you know what this is, Potter?" Snape said, his eyes glittering dangerously again.

Her mind ran through the options quickly.

"Veritaserum," she said, her mouth suddenly very dry.

"Correct," said Snape viciously. "Now, the use of this potion is controlled by very strict Ministry guidelines. But unless you watch your step, you might just find that my hand slips" -he shook the crystal bottle slightly- "right over your evening cup of tea. And then, Miss Potter... then we'll find out whether you've been in my office or not."

Tempest swallowed.

She'd gladly take the potion if only to confirm she hadn't set foot in his office recently, only there was the risk she'd speak of her contact with Sirius. Certain events of her past might also be brought to light. So she said nothing, and continued to stir her potion. She wondered if she should begin making her tea direct from the kitchens.

There was a knock on the dungeon door.

"Enter," said Snape in his usual voice.

The class looked around as the door opened. Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up toward Snape's desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looked agitated.

"We need to talk," said Karkaroff when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips like a rather poor ventriloquist.

"I'll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff," Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him.

"I want to talk now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding me."

"After the lesson," Snape snapped.

Tempest finished sprinkling mint leaves over the surface of the blue liquid in her cauldron and glanced up. While Karkaroff looked extremely worried, Snape looked furious.

"What, Potter?" Snape snapped, catching Tempest's glance, and Karkaroff stared at her too.

"Nothing," Tempest muttered, directing her attention back to her cauldron.

Karkaroff hovered behind Snape's desk for the rest of the double period. He seemed intent on preventing Snape from slipping away at the end of class.

Placing a vial of her potion on Snape's desk at the end of the lesson, Tempest was about to leave, when Parkinson deliberately slammed into Tempest, sending all her books and equipment scattering all over the floor.

Tempest swore and nodded for Ron and Hermione to go on ahead. Sighing, Tempest bent down to pick up her books. One had fallen underneath the desk across from her, and as she crawled underneath it to retrieve her book, she heard Snape and Karkaroff talking.

"What is so urgent?" Tempest heard Snape hiss.

"This," said Karkaroff, and Tempest, who was just straightening, saw Karkaroff pull up the left-hand sleeve of his robe and show Snape something on his inner forearm.

"Well?" said Karkaroff, not noticing Tempest, "Do you see? It's never been this clear, never since-"

"Put it away!" Snape snarled, his eyes scanning the classroom, falling instantly on Tempest, who was still clutching her books to her chest.

Karkaroff, who apparently still hadn't noticed Tempest, kept talking. "But you must have noticed- you have-"

"Later!" spat Snape, "What are you doing, Potter?"

Karkaroff whirled around, his right hand yanking down roughly on his sleeve, his eyes widened as they met Tempest. He sent Snape a final worried and frustrated glance, before turning on his heel and striding out of the dungeons.

"Picking up my books Professor." Tempest replied, shoving the ones she was holding into her bag.

"Well, then, get out!" Snape snapped, turning back to his desk.

Tempest got out.

She found Lavender at dinner and made some choice threats before heading down to the kitchens to beg a large parcel of food off the elves, which she then secreted into her bag. It was a good while after dinner at that point, and Tempest passed by many other students who were headed towards their common rooms.

She sighted Malfoy's blonde head a few flights above her on the moving staircases, and Tempest watched him for a moment before vaulting over two handrails to a staircase that was moving upwards. She needed to speak to him. In light of Skeeter's new article, there were thing she needed to say.

Tempest ran up the last flight of stairs and drew level with Malfoy, who turned to stare at her.

"Malfoy," said Tempest, only slightly out of breath, "could I have a word in private?"

"Sure," said Malfoy slowly.

When the staircase had stopped, Tempest headed through empty hallways and into a closed charms classroom. She shut the door behind them. Malfoy set his bag aside on a desk and stood before her with a questioning look.

"I thought it was you," said Tempest, "I thought you'd told someone- Parkinson, it doesn't matter- I thought you'd told them about Hagrid."

"I hadn't," said Malfoy.

"No, I figured that out," said Tempest. "There were plenty of other people in the garden that night, and I've discovered Skeeter has an uncanny ability to know things she shouldn't possibly be able to."

Malfoy said nothing.

Tempest realised how that might sound to someone who might have read the Witch Weekly article.

"Now's a good time to let you know I haven't been spiking your food with love potions."

"I know you haven't," said Malfoy.

"Good," said Tempest empathetically. "And what I said was taken out of context as well."

Again Malfoy said nothing.

"Basically, Skeeter is becoming a real problem." Tempest perched on the edge of a desk and studied the chalk left on the board from the last Charms class. "I mean, I knew the woman was poison, but it's not exactly common. To have a journalist with so little integrity write that kind of stuff about you on a personal level."

Malfoy moved over to sit on the desk beside her. "There is a particular kind of distaste I have for her. If my father gets wind of that article… he was mentioned by name in that rag."

"So you agree that it's a rag," said Tempest, pleased.

"I wouldn't know what else to call it. At least the Quibbler is funny." Malfoy glanced around the empty classroom then back at Tempest. "I've been listening to a fair amount of Edith Paif recently." He offered.

Tempest laughed, startled. "Have you really? How do you get music in this castle? We just have the one radio in the common room."

"I have a record player," said Malfoy. "I wrote my mother and she sent me the records."

Tempest couldn't help the grin that stretched across her face at the thought of immediate music. "It sounds great. What I'd give for The Clash on a Saturday morning. Mind you, it'd drive the others in my dorm mental."

"We have separate rooms below the lake," said Malfoy, "look-" he got off the desk and walked over to the chalkboard, summoning a bit of chalk to begin sketching an outline of the dungeons. "The common room is about halfway under the lake, and leading off from that, you have the rooms. They have some pretty thick stone walls. Magical interference isn't as bad down there. Well, unless-"

Tempest grinned, "you mean you give up using magic to listen to a couple hours of music?"

Malfoy paused. "Only temporarily."

"No, it's amazing," said Tempest, shaking her head, "I mean, it's surprising. For you. That is to say, I have a feeling you would like Radiohead. I'll send you some records over the summer break."

"I look forward to it," replied Malfoy. He even sounded genuine.

Tempest woke early on Saturday morning, rising before any of the other girls. The halls were still empty by the time she had gathered all she needed, and she set out of the castle and down into Hogsmeade with her bag slung over her shoulder. The sun was limping above the mountaintops when she reached the village.

She walked through a section of Hogsmeade she had never been in before, and through wilder countryside near to the foot of the mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lay. She knew it was ridiculously early, but without the cloak or map, she simply couldn't risk being followed. Though the temperatures were rising slightly, she had dressed in a thick jumper with a beanie pulled low over her face as an added precaution.

There was no one at the stile Sirius had indicated when Tempest arrived, so she settled on the ground to wait. She pulled a battered copy of the Silmarillion from her bag and began to read.

She had been there for little more than ten minutes, when she heard a bark.

From the mountain came bounding an enormous shaggy black dog, his tail wagging, ears flapping and barking enthusiastically as it neared.

Tempest rose with a grin to greet Padfoot. She clambered over the stile and dropped to the ground just in time to catch the bear sized dog that leapt up at her, and slobbered all over her face.

"Sirius," laughed Tempest, ruffling at Sirius's neck fur and feeling suddenly incredibly at ease.

Padfoot dropped down after giving Tempest a final sloppy lick and began to trot towards the mountain. Tempest followed, hurrying to walk beside Padfoot. The two walked up the mountain, winding higher and higher, and after what felt like half an hour climbing the steep path, they reached a narrow fissure in the rock, which Padfoot vanished through.

Tempest followed cautiously. She found herself in a cool, large, dimly lit cave. Tethered at the end of it, one end of his rope around a large rock was Buckbeak, the hippogriff that Tempest and Hermione had saved last year. Half grey horse, half giant eagle, Buckbeak's fierce orange eyes flashed at the sight of Tempest.

Tempest bowed to him and after regarding her imperiously for a moment, Buckbeak bent his scaly front knees and retreated, settling down on the stone floor of the cave.

Tempest however, had already redirected her attention to the large dog, which had just turned into her godfather.

Sirius straightened up and grinned at Tempest. He was dressed clothes that Tempest recognized as some she had sent to him in the past year. He still looked too thin by far, but his hair was clean and he looked like he had put effort into keeping the cave tidy.

Buckbeak had a neat pile of hay on what was clearly his side of the cave, while Sirius had a battered looking suitcase propped open against a wall. Tempest could see folded inside other clothes and the invisibility cloak draped on top.

"Nice place," said Tempest, putting her bag down by the entrance and pulling out the package of food. "Food?"

"Never mind that," said Sirius. He stepped forwards to clasp Tempest's shoulders, grey eyes surveying Tempest intently. "How are you?"

"Fine," said Tempest, "really fine. You look well."

"Your packages helped with that," said Sirius, after giving Tempest a final searching look and having decided to take Tempest at her word. He sat back against one of the cave walls with the package of food. "I am starving," he admitted, "the cloak helps with stealing food, but there's only so far you can before it starts feeling like a criminal act, rather than necessity."

"One might say the two were linked," said Tempest dryly. "There's a thermos of tea in there for you too if you like… but I should probably take that; you don't look like you could handle caffeine at the moment."

Sirius barked a laugh and tore into a bun. "If I'm going to die, Temper, it won't be from caffeine." He grinned at Tempest, his eyes sparkling.

"You're an idiot," Tempest said. "And thank you."

"For?"

"For going beyond any expectation and caring enough to be the idiot who lives in a cave for me."

Sirius chuckled. "You're welcome. It's barely a hardship. It's nicer here than other places I've been."

Tempest shook her head in wonder. "What are you doing here Sirius?"

"Sightseeing," Sirius said blandly.

Tempest threw a bread roll at his head. "Answer the question."

Sirius caught the roll and tore a hunk off with his teeth. "Fine. I wanted to see you."

Tempest stared at him in disbelief. "It's barely out of February and you're staying in a cave up a mountain. Dog or no, you'll freeze. I will be owling you more clothes. And food. And blankets."

"No mothering," Sirius mumbled, managing to cram an entire muffin into his mouth, "what's been happening recently?"

"Well I'm not the one sleeping rough and at risk of dementors."

"Oi," Sirius said, pausing mid-chew, "don't insult the cave, Tempest, it can be quite homey."

"No it's not awful," said Tempest defensively, "It's just you shouldn't have to… That aside, this place might even be a touch safer than Hogwarts right now." Sirius paused mid-chew. "You don't know- I meant to write, but then I thought it was part of the Tournament and I didn't… about two weeks ago, I was figuring out the clue for the Second Task and got knocked out and the Marauder's Map stolen."

"Fuck," said Sirius.

"I know," said Tempest, "I'm so sorry, about the map, and I have no idea who has it now-"

"I don't care about that," said Sirius, "you, are, were you all right?"

Tempest was taken aback by the sudden intensity of Sirius' voice. "Yes," she said, "yes, entirely. I woke up and Snape was there-"

"Snape?"

"It was fine," reassured Tempest. "As much as I loathe him and he loathes me, I don't actually believe he'd actually, er, harm me."

Sirius grunted resentfully, and continued to stare at Tempest very seriously. "That would be the second reason I'm here," he said, "the rumors I've been hearing, they don't bode well for the state of the Ministry, or for your safety in the Tournament."

"More rumors?"

Sirius sighed around a mouthful of cold chicken. "Bertha Jorkins, Barty Crouch's sickness… Moody was attacked before he arrived at Hogwarts. Your name in the tournament, and what you just told me compounds on all of that."

"Crouch has been very absent lately," mused Tempest. "I've gotten quite sick of seeing Percy's smug face around the place, and Moody…" Tempest stared at Buckbeak, who was grooming his wing feathers. "He makes me feel, er odd. It's a bit like a smell you can't identify, or a uh, word you can't find…"

Sirius paused mid-chew, "but it feels wrong?"

"Yes, yes exactly," said Tempest, glancing at Sirius. "Wait, you know?"

"Dark magic," said Sirius, nodding. "It hangs around like a stench."

Tempest thought of the feeling in the air around Moody, and compared it with how she had felt around Lucius Malfoy or Professor Quirrell. The closest she had been to confirmed dark magic users. However Quirrell had Voldemort grown out of the back of his head, which she was fairly sure Moody didn't have, and she had barely spent any time around Lucius Malfoy.

His son on the other hand…

"Crouch's sickness is also concerning," added Sirius, "he's a stickler. He'd have to be buried six feet under to stop going to work."

"You seem to know him well," said Tempest.

Sirius's face darkened until it was downright dangerous, "Oh yes," he said quietly, "I know him alright. He was the one who sent me to Azkaban without a trial."

"What?"

"Could have saved me twelve years in Azkaban if I had been given a trial," said Sirius. "I could've done so much… I could have saved so much time…" Sirius's voice became wistful. "Twelve years…" He smiled sadly. "It's true. Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic before everything went to shit. He had almost unprecedented powers granted to him during the Voldemort years. He and his aurors had the ability to kill rather than capture. I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the Dementors without trial."

"He had his supporters– plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. Then Crouch's son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power. It was an awful shock for him," Sirius continued, "Spent all his time out there catching Death Eaters- should have spent more time with his family… gotten to know his own son. The boy was around three years beneath me at Hogwarts, I think."

He occupied himself with crunching into an apple.

"Was he a Death Eater?" Tempest asked.

"No idea," Sirius replied, finishing the apple in record time, and throwing the core to Buckbeak, who didn't seem to appreciate it much. "I was already in Azkaban when they brought him in, this is mostly just stuff I've found out since I got out… I'm not sure about the boy, but he was definitely caught in the company of people who I'd bet everything I have a claim to were Death Eaters… but then again, he might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Crouch's fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn't much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy… and then he sent him straight to Azkaban."

"If he- the son- if he had been innocent though-" said Tempest, "Would Crouch have-"

"Let the boy off? Highly unlikely. After all, he was still found talking with known Death Eaters, and a man like Crouch… even if the boy had gone free, Crouch would probably have disowned him."

"So in other words, he just threw his own son to the Dementors?" said Tempest flatly.

Sirius didn't look remotely amused now, and his lips were pressed in a flat line. "That's right. I saw them bring him in. He can't have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though… they all went quiet in the end… except when they shrieked in their sleep. He died about a year after they brought him in."

"He died?"

"He wasn't the only one," said Sirius bitterly. "Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the dementors could sense it, they got excited. Now that I think about it, the boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived... Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son's body."

"The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it. Crouch lost everything. One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic… next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonored, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

"Lucius Malfoy works in the Ministry regarding international relations, doesn't he?" asked Tempest.

"Made the deal even worse," said Sirius. "Forced to work within proximity of a known Death Eater? Between Moody and Crouch, I really couldn't say who had the record for most Death Eater kills."

There was a long silence.

"What do you think it all adds up to?" asked Tempest eventually.

"From an outside perspective?" Sirius shook his head. "There's a lot of unrest. The increased activities in Voldemort's old supporters coupled with everything else shows that perhaps the death eaters are rallying together under a new master, or gathering support to create a new age of fear. The attacks on you and your presence in the Tournament are an obvious byproduct. Tempestas Potter, the girl who lived; Voldemort's downfall… you're a symbol Tempest, an obvious target."

Tempest sighed. She leant her head back against the wall of the cave. "That's not going to change any time soon, is it?"

"Constant vigilance," said Sirius wryly.

Tempest raised the thermos of tea in a salutation.

"What do they think of you?" Tempest asked after a while. "The er, dark community. I mean, on the one hand, you broke out of Azkaban without helping anyone else, on the other; you are the scumbag who sold out the Potter family to the Dark Lord. Then again, that resulted in his demise…"

Sirius hummed, "I'd say my complete and utter misery soon informed my fellow inmates I had no place in the happenings of that night. And Peter… Merlin knows where he is now."

"I should've let you kill him," said Tempest with feeling. "Everything would be different if you had. You and Remus both wanted to, you were both prepared to- it was what he deserved. His body could've been proof enough, but I stopped you and now-"

"Hey, hey, hey," Sirius grasped Tempest's hand. "It was an incredibly good thing that you did… We wanted him dead. I still want him dead, but I've had time to think, and sometimes death isn't the ultimate punishment. Sometimes it's the living that's worse, having to go on, knowing what you've done."

"That implies he feels remorse."

Sirius had stopped eating, his face very, very serious. "Peter was one of my closest friends. Those later years after Hogwarts were the tightest we'd ever been. When his mum died, we sat up with him all night, mourning. He sat up the whole night looking after us when we got roaring drunk at James' stag. He was there at James' wedding, and he held you when you were born. On your first birthday, he took turns spinning you around the room. He loved us all at one point, and if he doesn't, for a single second feel remorse… he's not human."

Tempest had never given much thought to what it had meant for Pettigrew to be a Marauder. He had betrayed his friends so ruthlessly it was difficult to match up with the image Sirius was creating of someone she might have grown up with as an uncle in a kinder world.

"He did spend a good twelve years as a rat," said Tempest.

"That he did," said Sirius, "that he did."

"On that subject," said Tempest, after several seconds of silence, "I'm not having a lot of progress with the animagus thing. It's just a tad difficult to… do something when you have no idea what exactly you're doing. Its not like Transfiguration class when Minnie tells you to transfigure a cactus into a quill or a pair of spectacles into a squirrel." She sighed, "I even considered asking Krum for some tips; he turned himself into half a shark for the second tournament task."

"Not the same," Sirius said immediately. "Becoming an animagus isn't a temporary, one time thing, subject to change, it changes you innately and permanently. When I change into Padfoot, my magic recognizes and accepts my second form and shapes me into it. Those Canary Creams you wrote to me about, they turn you into a bird, yes?"

"Yes."

"And when you were a bird, were your thought processes any different? Exactly," he said at Tempest's shake of her head. "Just you stuck in a different body… if you spent any extended amount of time like that, you'd go insane; as an animagus, it feels right."

"That's exactly where I can't get," said Tempest frustratedly. "I can never seem to get to a place where I feel right. I-" She stopped as Sirius abruptly placed an arm around her shoulders.

"Close your eyes," he said, and reluctantly, Tempest did so.

"Right, now just… relax a touch, and feel." Tempest let out a breath and let herself melt into her position. She could feel cool stone beneath her, and the warmth of Sirius's arm behind her neck and at her side. As the seconds went by, she could feel a thrum of something in the air. It was similar to the pressure at the back of her mind when she stepped onto the Hogwarts grounds. Magic. In the cave, it radiated out from Sirius and herself, and to a lesser extent, Buckbeak.

"That's magic," said Sirius softly, needlessly, but his voice slipped into her mind like an oar cutting smoothly through the surface of a lake. "Around you and coming from you… what you need to do, is find it within you."

Within? Tempest flexed her fingers, feeling the intangible net of energy woven around her shift as she did so. This feeling? She felt as though she could conjure fire from her fingertips, or carve into stone. But Sirius had said to find it within, and Tempest wasn't sure how.

"Don't overthink it," Sirius's voice was saying.

Tempest focused on her breathing. With every inhale and exhale, the magic surrounding her waxed and waned. Tempest stopped breathing, yet the magic continued to pulse, like a separate living entity. How to go about shaping the magic to her will?

Only Sirius had described the process as a natural one, one of acceptance, and how could Tempest expect her magic to accept some undefined animal?

Go on then, thought Tempest, feeling the shape of the magic wrapped about her, a second skin. She reached for the magic, just beyond sight. A land of sparkling silver that burnt at the touch. She thought, as she had thought so many other times before, of what skin she could slip into. And she asked; what more am I?

Something connected.

Rivers of heat and energy streamed into Tempest and her eyes flew open in shock.

The magic snapped back into intangibility as quickly as it had flooded her mind, and Tempest slumped back, blinking rapidly.

Sirius was crouched before her, talking rapidly, yet Tempest couldn't seem to hear him.

"Sirius… Sirius, calm down," said Tempest distantly, "I… I saw…"

She had seen, now seared into her mind, a pair of large glowing silver eyes rimmed with thick grey fur.

It was difficult to say goodbye to Sirius. Difficult to articulate feeling towards a man she had only properly met now for the second time. She had known Remus for a full year, yet through only a handful of exchanges, Tempest was fully prepared and very much looking forward to moving in with Sirius come the summer holidays.

He had plans, he said; a place in London that was sitting empty, and the picture he had painted lingered far more in Tempest's mind than she would have thought it would. She was used to disappointment and false hope, yet somehow Sirius had, seemingly without trying, managed to gain her trust.

When Tempest had first met Minnie, and been told of the Wizarding world, she had asked for proof. Minnie had transfigured the knife in Tempest's hand into a frog, then herself into a cat. Tempest had asked for Minnie to do the former again, then dropped a rubbish bin over the Professor and bolted.

When Sirius, not an hour on from proving he wasn't a mass murderer had offered for Tempest to live with him, she had been skeptical. But she hadn't dropped a bin over his head. She had thought about it briefly, and then filed it away in her cabinet of unrealistic dreams.

It was closer now though, so close, and Tempest said goodbye to Sirius with the promise of a better future, and forty-five minutes later, goodbye to Padfoot. It was a strange feeling, knowing he was so close, yet unreachable. Tempest had even considered smuggling Padfoot into the castle beneath the Invisibility Cloak and hiding him in the Chamber of Secrets, yet with the Marauder's Map in unknown hands, she was loathe to risk it.

She hadn't actually talked to Sirius about everything she had wanted, but contentment sat light and breezy in her insides as the next day passed. She had forgotten Skeeter's article in the Witch Weekly, her mind more occupied with impossible futures and the not-too distant holidays. That changed the next morning.

It seemed that the Witch Weekly's readership was more extensive than Tempest thought, and those who had read Skeeter's article about her were weak minded enough to believe it. She had been receiving hate mail, which was a first.

There were some funny letters, deluded women who had some strange vision of Tempest as a paragon of virtue, now shocked and horrified by her antics. Tempest sat munching on toast as she flipped through them, chuckling at particularly ridiculous complaints. Others tried to shame her, and a few spoke of her dishonoring her parents' names.

While initially good humored, by the time the last post owl had left, Tempest had a pile of smoking ashes sitting before her plate.

She had received a letter from Lucius Malfoy as well. It had arrived at the same time that she saw Malfoy untying a letter of his own from the Malfoy eagle owl.

His letter was short and to the point.

Miss Potter- It has come to my attention that there are rumors circulating regarding my son and yourself. I am sure you realize how vexing this could become for you. It would be greatly appreciated if you would put these to rest. –Lord L. S. Malfoy.

Across the hall, Malfoy looked up at Tempest.

Tempest lifted his father's letter between two fingers, a casual motion, and Malfoy nodded imperceptibly.

Tempest continued with her breakfast. Malfoy's family must be facing some backlash as well, if Malfoy Sr felt he had to write to threaten her. It was uncharacteristically polite as threats went- this coming from a man who had tried to curse her when she was twelve.

She folded the note over curiously. It was very nice stationary and written with rich ink; of course Lucius Malfoy would take even the greatest care with a simple message. He was a lord too. Tempest wouldn't have been surprised if he was set to sit in the House of Lords.

Tempest didn't have a chance to speak to Malfoy when they were in Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, who had returned to his job, stood with a fresh supply of open crates, this time filled with creatures far removed from the skrewts. They were fluffy black critters with long snouts, flat, spade-like paws, and a simply adorable way of blinking up at her. Completely distracted, Tempest forgot about needing to speak to Malfoy. It couldn't have been important anyway. Not compared to the magical equivalent of the platypus. Tempest was itching to pick one up.

"These're nifflers," said Hagrid, when the class had gathered around. "Yeh find 'em down mines mostly. They like sparkly stuff… There yeh go, look."

One of the nifflers had suddenly leapt up and attempted to bite Parkinson's watch off her wrist. She shrieked and jumped backward. Tempest unclasped her own watch and slipped it into her pocket.

"Useful little treasure detectors," said Hagrid happily. "Thought we'd have some fun with 'em today. See over there?" He pointed at a large patch of freshly turned earth. "I've buried some gold coins. I've got a prize fer whoever picks the niffler that digs up most. Jus' take off all yer valuables, an' choose a niffler, an' get ready ter set 'em loose."

Tempest; with a warm feeling squirming in her chest, picked up a niffler. It put its long snout in her ear and sniffed enthusiastically. It was very cuddly, heavier than it looked, and it squirmed about in Tempest's arms, it's paws slapping at her chest and back.

Hermione had selected a niffler that was now burying its nose in her hair, and Ron a rather small one who was already straining towards the patch of dirt.

It was easily the most fun they had ever had in Care of Magical Creatures. The nifflers dived in and out of the patch of earth as though it were water, each scurrying back to the student who had released it and spitting gold into their hands. Ron's was particularly efficient; it had soon filled his lap with coins.

"Can you buy these as pets, Hagrid?" he asked excitedly as his niffler dived back into the soil, splattering his robes.

"Yer mum wouldn' be happy, Ron," said Hagrid, grinning. "They wreck houses, nifflers. I reckon they've nearly got the lot, now," he added, pacing around the patch of earth while the nifflers continued to dive. "I on'y buried a hundred coins!"

Tempest spat out a gob of dirt. Her niffler was enthusiastic, depositing more dirt on her robes and face than coins, leaving her to scramble after them. She sat back up, piling the gold beside her on the group and watching as her niffler surfaced again, spitting a last coin into Tempest's palm affectionately, then plopping down atop the pile.

"Well, let's check how yeh've done!" said Hagrid. "Count yer coins! An' there's no point tryin' ter steal any, Goyle," he added, his beetle-black eyes narrowed. "It's leprechaun gold. Vanishes after a few hours."

Goyle emptied his pockets, looking extremely sulky. It turned out that Ron's niffler had been most successful, so Hagrid gave him an enormous slab of Honeydukes chocolate for a prize. The bell rang across the grounds for lunch; the rest of the class set off back to the castle, but Tempest, Ron, and Hermione stayed behind to help Hagrid put the nifflers back in their boxes.

Tempest bid farewell to her niffler wistfully. She wondered if they were purchasable. If not, she'd look into getting herself a platypus. She didn't think Minnie would take kindly to a niffler anyway. She thought of Sirius. What would his stance be on pets, she wondered? He'd met Nyx before as Padfoot, but would he want to live with a cat?

Occupied with thoughts of a mysterious house and Sirius's gleaming eyes, she didn't realize that Ron was just as quiet as her until Hermione broke the silence.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Why didn't you tell me about the gold?" asked Ron shortly.

Tempest had to pause for several seconds before the question caught up to her, and she looked over at Hermione, stumped. "What gold?"

"The gold I gave you at the Quidditch World Cup," said Ron. "The leprechaun gold I gave you for my Omnioculars. Why didn't you tell me it disappeared?"

Tempest shook her head in confusion. "Oh," she said, finally remembering, "I didn't notice. My wand was missing, I was hardly going to be worrying about gold…"

They climbed the steps into the entrance hall and went into the Great Hall for lunch.

"Must be nice," Ron said abruptly, when they had sat down and started serving themselves roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. "To have so much money you don't notice if a pocketful of Galleons goes missing."

Tempest was at a loss for words. For as far back as she could remember up till she turned ten, she had no better off than Ron. Being homeless was preferable to living with the Dursleys- and Tempest had been homeless a good while. "Money isn't everything Ron."

"I didn't know leprechaun gold vanishes," Ron muttered. "I thought I was paying you back. You shouldn't have gotten me a Christmas present-"

"You think I make a list of the gifts I give people?" said Tempest. "It's a gift, Ron, leave it at that."

Ron speared a roast potato on the end of his fork, glaring at it. Then he said, "I hate being poor. It's rubbish. I don't blame Fred and George for trying to make some extra money. Wish I could. Wish I had a niffler."

"Fred and George love what they do," said Tempest, "and you have so much more in your life that's worthwhile. You might not be as well off as other people, but there are plenty others worse off than you, and all of that could change in the future anyway. So, Ron, shut up and eat your potatoes."

Hate mail continued to arrive through the week. After a while, Tempest learnt to risk traumatizing some owls rather than let the letters land. The one howler she had allowed to get through had her and Malfoy cringing in their seats until she managed to find the right combination of spells to blast the letter from the air.

They had the opportunity to talk very briefly in between class. Potions had just finished, and Tempest was over at Malfoy's desk under the pretense of returning spare ingredients to the supply cupboard.

"This is hellish," muttered Malfoy from the corner of his mouth.

"Don't I know it," growled Tempest, closing a drawer harder than necessary. "I know it'll go away in time- it did after Christmas. I'm just getting a bit tired of waiting for people to get their heads extracted from their arses."

"My father keeps writing me," said Malfoy, "he's furious enough he might actually speak to the Minister about amending some legislation about what can be printed. He knows most of the publishers."

"Does he?" muttered Tempest darkly.

Malfoy didn't seem to read into her change in tone and went on: "I'm sure if he spoke to the right people we could have all the major prints refuse to publish her work-"

"Have you ever noticed how much you talk about your father?" snapped Tempest abruptly. "It's like you're on repeat- my father this, my father this, and if it's not him, it's your mother, your family's influence-"

Malfoy straightened behind his cauldron, no longer pretending to be packing up his desk. "I do apologize," he said stiffly. "I'm sure it's very difficult for you to hear about my family when you don't have any of your own."

The words stabbed straight through Tempest. Not that she would show it. She shut the doors of the cupboard with a bang. "At least everything I am doesn't hinge on what my father says, or what my mother can do for me. Take away all of that and who the hell are you, Malfoy? If I was going to be as dependent on my father as you are, I'm glad he's dead-"

Tempest ground to a halt. She stared at Malfoy, eyes wide. The entire room was silent. Everyone had left, and Malfoy wisely said nothing.

"Sorry," Tempest blurted. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I-"

She didn't know who she was apologizing to.

"Excuse me," she said, and left.